


stand on the outside

by MarauderCracker



Category: No Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: College AU, Other, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 12:11:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10411872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarauderCracker/pseuds/MarauderCracker
Summary: Saying that Timothy's first interaction with his new neighbors isn't exactly pleasant would be an understatement. When he calls his best friends to tell them the story, they laugh for five minutes straight and Kareema tells him that he's "being over-dramatic. I know art students are bad but they can't bethatbad." Hank refuses to back him up and the calls end with a lot of frowning and stuttered complaints on Timothy's side.





	

**Author's Note:**

> If you know me from the Teen Wolf fandom, you might recognize this fic. The original has been deleted and I'm re-using the plot, because the original ship was bad but I honestly loved this plot. If you've never read the first version, enjoy!

Saying that Timothy's first interaction with his new neighbors isn't exactly pleasant would be an understatement. When he calls his best friends to tell them the story, they laugh for five minutes straight and Kareema tells him that he's " _ being over-dramatic. I know art students are bad but they can't be  _ that _ bad. _ " Hank refuses to back him up and the calls end with a lot of frowning and stuttered complaints on Timothy's side.

He's known since he first rented the place that the low price had a lot more to do with the next building being almost completely inhabited by hippies, art students and college dropouts on minimum wage than with the poor view. The view is really shitty though: the bedroom's window looks at his neighbor’s balcony, and the kitchen window at a brick wall.

The good part is that he'd been neighbor-free for the first six months. Now the universe seems to be set on balancing the scale. You want a low rent? Put up with the shitty living conditions, the universe is saying.

They can't be older than he is and they prove to be annoying and frustrating from day one. Beginning of day one being seven AM on a Thursday, when Timothy is just finally falling asleep and a low noise makes him jump out of bed. He looks out of the window to find a guy wearing only boxers, holding one of the boards from the old wooden blinds. The rest of the boards are scattered all over the balcony, and a girl is standing inside the apartment, with the tape that was supposed to hold the blinds together hanging from her hands. 

Timothy glares at them, suppresses the impulse to ask what the fuck are they doing fucking around with the blinds at sunrise, and goes back to sleep. 

That's not what Timothy calls their 'first interaction', though, and definitely not what makes him call his friends to complain. It's the plastic pipe that comes flying through the open window and hits him on the back of his head, that's what.

It's four in the afternoon and the pipe is resting on Timothy's bed, right where it landed after bouncing off his head, half an hour ago. He's tried to go back to the thesis he was reading, but he can't seem to stop glaring at either the pipe or the window. Maybe he's planning how to slowly and painfully murder his new neighbors. He should ask Hank’s girlfriend for advice.

When they finally knock on his door, he goes to open it with his most threatening scowl. It's not a very threatening scowl, but he does have some respectable dark bags under his eyes which usually keep people away from him. 

The couple from yesterday are standing in his hallway, but neither of them looks intimidated, at all. Actually, the guy might be checking him out. The girl --band t-shirt, blue strands in her hair, dimples-- smiles innocently and waves at him. Her (boy?)friend has a blue beanie, a Star Wars t-shirt and looks like he hasn’t heard of the concept of “shaving”. He starts the conversation with an overly friendly and very accented "What's up, neighbor!" that makes Timothy roll his eyes.

"What do you want?" he asks, crossing his arms to compensate for the lack of strength of his voice. Dimples cringes a little, but Australian Accent seems unfazed. He might be looking at Timothy's biceps. "Uh, we just wanted to introduce ourselves! Since we're neighb..." the girl starts. 

It takes all of Timothy’s willpower to interrupt her, say "We live in different buildings."

She gapes a little, trying to find something to say. "Do you want your pipe or not?" Timothy continues, and the guy nods eagerly. Dimples smiles at him again. Timothy sighs. "What the were you doing?" He asks, as he takes the pipe out of his back pocket. 

The girl stammers and fumbles with her hands before answering a muttered "he hid my signed Whitesnake album." Timothy rolls his eyes, puts the pipe on the girl’s hand and gives them a curt nod before shutting the door on their faces. 

He's just getting back to his reading when a shout comes through his window. "We're Evie and Xavier, by the way! Nice to meet you!"

* * *

 

Hank insists this is the world's way of saying he shouldn't have mocked him when he couldn’t beat Timothy’s video-game. Kareema says that he should learn to appreciate classic rock. Timothy just wonders if he can break into his neighbors' apartment and smash their speakers without getting arrested. He's not petty enough to file a noise complaint, though. Well, not yet.

He’s not sure that ‘Australian singing over acoustic guitar’ counts as a musical genre, but he prefers them to the constant flux between Deep Purple and Guns ‘n Roses that plays most afternoons. Besides that, Evie and Xavier haven't bothered him again since the pipe incident. 

It's summer and it's hot and the door to their balcony is open all the goddamn time, so Timothy can hear their music loud and clear all day, every day. He can hear other things, too. The yelling and cursing when they play video-games together, teasing arguments about who is on dinner duty, petty discussions over the merits of Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. Shouting, whining, and moaning. During the silent seconds between one song and the next, Timothy can hear rhythmic thuds and a choked scream. He leaves his bedroom instantly and puts on headphones, his face beet red and his breathing difficult.

He doesn't think much of it, really. He just avoids being in his bedroom except to sleep for two days. But his apartment is just a small kitchen, a small bathroom and his very small bedroom, and most of his free time he spends reading or coding, sitting in bed with his laptop. The kitchen chair definitely isn't as comfortable.

* * *

 

It happens again though. The walls are thin, the two buildings are way too close and Timothy's always been a light sleeper. For the second time in a month, he wakes up to things falling loudly outside his window, followed by a stream of curses. 

He sits up in his bed, squinting at the light, and looks at his phone before doing anything else (it's almost noon, so his annoyance isn't that justified). Then, he turns towards the window. There are books scattered over the floor and out on the balcony, and there's a fallen bookshelf.

Timothy still doesn't understand the distribution mapping of that apartment. He suspects it might all be a single space, but he's sure the couch he can see now wasn't there before. Or the sideways chair. He's wondering what the hell they're doing when one of them stumbles back into the range of Timothy's view. 

Xavier isn't facing the window but looking at something else, and he has so many tattoos that it takes Timothy a second to realize he's completely naked. Timothy's brain is still trying to start working again when Evie appears, wearing only a too-big, open shirt and holding a box of condoms as if it was the Olympic torch.

Timothy is out of bed, out of his room and trying really hard to get that image out of his mind in less than three seconds, but it takes one long, long cold shower to stop him from feeling like his face is on fire.

* * *

 

Evie spends a lot of time sitting on the floor of the tiny balcony, her feet hanging over the alley below and always with a book or her sketching pad in hand. The balcony is close enough that Timothy can read the titles from his window, and find that Evie reads a lot of poetry, along with the occasional self-help book.

Also close enough that someone with enough skill and determination could totally climb from the balcony to Timothy's window, he realizes now. Maybe that's why the old lady on the upper floor has bars on her window.

Xavier is mostly out in the balcony at night, so he only sees him lounging there right before leaving for work, always with a beer or a coffee. Sometimes, the guy will catch his gaze and wink at him, raising his drink as a greeting.

After a while, Evie seems to forget that she'd been the littlest bit intimidated by Timothy. She seems to rise with the sun and is always having breakfast outside when Timothy comes home from work, calling a "sleep tight" in his direction before going inside. She asks his name one time, and Timothy answers with a smile, avoids stuttering and making a fool out of himself. 

Another morning, Timothy enters the room already shirtless, and he's getting into bed when he hears Evie say "hey, cool tattoo!" He acknowledges it with a nod and goes to sleep.

* * *

 

Xavier' idea of being a friendly neighbor is slightly different from his... (girl?)friend’s? Friend he frequently hooks up with? Anyway. Different from Evie's. Specifically, asking him if he's a stripper. Timothy glares at him through the open window as he puts on his jacket, and Xavier shrugs.

“You're pretty, you work at night, you have nice abs. According to Evie, really, I haven't seen them. I'm just guessing here." Timothy closes the window and thinks he should really buy himself a curtain sometime soon. Xavier yells after him "I'll take that as a yes!"

Almost three weeks later, he's throwing today's newspaper out of the window for Xavier to catch. He fumbles with and it almost falls down to the alley. Only then does Timothy realize that the guy is probably still convinced he's an exotic dancer or something. He leans out of the window and calls "hey, Xavier," in an almost confident voice. "I’m a bartender."

* * *

 

Even though it's winter and cold enough that both of their windows remain closed most of the time, Evie puts on a jacket and has her morning coffee outside, and greets Timothy with a silent smile. Xavier wraps himself in a red hoodie that seems to belong to both of them equally and has coffee more often than beer, but he continues to share with Timothy the theories he develops about his life.

Timothy continues to not confirm or deny if he actually has a phoenix tattooed on his left ass cheek, if he's really a superhero, any detail of his workout routine or the gym he goes to, or what club he works at.

Of course, between asking him to pass him some aftershave because he'll " _ totally give it back as soon as I'm done, come on mate, I'm too tired to go out now _ " and throwing aspirins and tea bags through Timothy's window when Evie points out that he looks sick, Xavier gathers enough information to find Timothy's workplace. And never gives his aftershave back.

* * *

 

Timothy’s making his way back from the bathroom, hoping Talia hasn’t been swamped by people in the minute he’s been away from the bar. He mutters “ _ excuse me _ ” and “ _ sorry _ ”, struggling to push his way through the crowd.

"Hey, hot stuff," a familiar voice slurs to his left, not too loud but close enough to be heard over the music, and Timothy turns around to find a very drunk Xavier grinning up at him. Evie comes out of the crowd a second later, carrying a beer. She looks a bit more sober, but still sways a little before being able to settle one arm around Xavier' waist to hold herself up. She smiles brightly at Timothy, and offers to share her drink.

"I’m working, Evie. And Xavier, especially. I can’t drink at work," Timothy answers, and only then Evie seems to notice that he’s wearing the club’s logo on his shirt. She chuckles, apologizes and steps back, dragging Xavier with her. Timothy sees her from the corner of his eye, tilting his head back to sip her drink, and watches how Xavier tries to take the bottle from her. 

Timothy makes his way back behind the bar, trying to keep a serious face and not laugh out loud when Evie raises the beer out of Xavier's reach and Xavier almost falls over. Evie grabs him by the waist and Timothy can see them laughing, but they're already too far for him to hear what they're saying. Whatever it is that Xavier says, it causes Evie to smile fondly and roll her eyes, but she doesn't seem to be any closer to giving up her beer. Evie goes to take another drink and, this time, Xavier doesn't go for the bottle. He goes for the neck, instead, biting at Evie's collarbone. It takes Timothy a second to realize he's staring and look away. The next time he sneaks a glance, they are no longer there. 

He catches sight of them again later, way later. There is a purple mark on Evie's collarbone, Xavier’s shirt is buttoned up the wrong way, and neither of them looks any more sober than before. Evie doesn't see him, but Xavier smirks at him before the crowd swallows them again.

* * *

 

"Timothy, I don't mean to offend you," Kareema starts, and Timothy can see the malicious intentions in her eyes even with the shitty quality of her webcam, "but I think you might be..." she stops, looks around conspiratorially, "making friends." Timothy groans, and he can hear Hank laughing somewhere off camera.

"I already have friends, Kareema, I don't need..." Timothy starts, but he's interrupted by Hank popping up over Kareema’s head to throw him a skeptical look. Kareema has that little smug grin that, historically, means that Timothy is about to lose a little bit of his dignity. "Name three," she says. Timothy raises his eyebrows at that, but his friends’ matching smiles just grow a little wider. "Three actual friends, Timothy. Besides us."

And, okay, maybe Timothy does need to take thirty or forty seconds to answer that. He would ask himself one of these stupid rhetorical questions people make sometimes. Wasn’t he supposed to grow out of the awkward, anxious antisocial teenager stage sometime before turning 21?  Kareema and Hank aren’t the most sociable people either, but they seem to be much more comfortable with it than he is. Right now, he mentally repeats his usual excuses: 'silence is comfortable, I enjoy being by myself, I like numbers better than people' and pushes back his anxieties.

"There’s Marlo," he replies, trying to sound nonchalant. As if finding one person that met the requirements to qualify as a friend had been so easy. Kareema chuckles, Hank raises his eyebrows. "Marlo, from the college newspaper? You only talk to her through e-mails."

Timothy objects, actually a little bit offended. "Come on! We have… editorial meetings, we like the same music… We go out for coffee on printing day sometimes."  _ That's what normal friends do, right? _ Timothy wants to add.

"Okay, let's say she counts. Come on, another one," Kareema insists, looking very smug.

"Talia, from work," he answers. 

"Uh, I asked for her number and then accidentally introduced her to Rohan and they ended up dating," is Kareema's answer. Hank disappears off screen while trying to hide his laughter, and Timothy grins. 

"That's a little sad... and kinda pathetic."

"Your face is sad and pathetic, asshole," Kareema says, and then sticks out her tongue. "You still have one to go." 

After a general agreement (that means Kareema and Hank ganging up on him again while he absolutely does not pout) that Fern, no matter how well their short but messy relationship ended and how diplomatic their talks are, doesn't actually count as a friend, Timothy promises that he’s gonna make some time to see them in person sometime this week and ends the video call before they can embarrass him further.

He spends the restless minutes in bed before sleep finally takes him in, wondering if Evie and Xavier would even want him as a friend, and if there's any possibility of an actual friendship from him when he can't take the image of Xavier sucking on Evie's neck from his mind.

* * *

 

It's midwinter when Evie starts coming over to study. Not that Timothy can actually help her study, because he doesn't  _ get  _ poetry and doesn't really know how to do positive reinforcement, but Evie doesn't expect him to. According to her, Xavier' method of preparing for finals includes spreading canvases across the entire apartment and using all of their mugs for paint water, which doesn’t quite align with her need for organization.

While they lived on campus, Evie studied in the library. Now, she spreads her notes on Timothy's small kitchen table while Timothy sits on the counter, reading MIT’s Technology Review or working on his laptop and preparing more coffee every time he notices Evie's mug is empty.

It's easy and comfortable as long as Timothy focuses on his reading or his coding and doesn't let his thoughts wander. Well, Evie looks comfortable and at ease. Timothy doesn't really know how to keep his brain in check, and finds himself staring at Evie's mouth or legs or hands; or at Evie in general, way too often to even try to trick himself into believing he's handling this crush well.

Evie doesn't occupy much space, though her notes and books do. She reads in silence, moves around carefully, accepts every refill of coffee with a small smile and a nod. (She drags her bottom lip between her teeth when she gets frustrated, and Timothy can't look away).

Sometimes, though, she pushes the chair away from the table and stretches her arms and pops her neck, sighing in relief when her body loosens up. And then she smiles brightly at Timothy and asks, always apologizing for interrupting his reading or his work, something like " _ can I offer you coffee this time? _ " or " _ do you work tonight? _ " or any other small, considerate little thing that doesn't make Timothy feel like his personal space is being intruded but reassures that Evie cares.

* * *

 

Timothy is a bad person. He hadn’t considered that possibility before, but now that it’s appeared, he’s one hundred percent sure of it. Timothy is a bad, bad person. The kind of bad person that gets off to thoughts of friends. Specifically in the shower, trying to feel guilty about it but too distracted by terrible images of his neighbors and the feeling of his own hand against his dick.

The universe will probably get back at him for this, he thinks, but the universe also decided to let him wake up and have the sight of Xavier eating Evie out outside his window, so he's not complaining. 

He'll probably never be able to erase the visual of Evie grasping at the doorframe, mouth hanging open and chest heaving while Xavier's hands held her hips in place, one of her legs hooked over Xavier’s shoulder. Or the knowledge that Xavier has a tattoo right above his ass, on the left side of his lower back, that Timothy wasn't able to read and is making him itch with curiosity. 

But there is another thought, much more urgent than the tattoo, that won't stop nagging his mind. Evie had rested her forehead against the door, eyes almost closed and her breath clouding up and blurring the glass, but Timothy can swear that he saw her look up at him and smile.

* * *

 

It's Friday and Evie's last test is on Monday. Evie is, of course, already prepared and sure to pass with an excellent grade, but she's still reading and re-reading her notes. She's told Timothy that Xavier is presenting his final work and will probably call to tell them his grade, and it made Timothy smile. Because Evie worded it as ' _ he's gonna call us _ ' and because that means that she's got his own apartment all by himself and still feels like coming over, even if it's just for shared silences and coffee.

Xavier doesn't call, though. He knocks too loudly on Timothy's door and enters before being invited in, with a bottle of rum on one hand and a shit-eating smile on his face. Of course they don't need to be told, but he still announces his 80% grade loud enough that people on the next block probably hear it. Evie is up from her chair and hugging him in less than two seconds. They break apart soon, only for Xavier to fist-bump Timothy over Evie's shoulder and then fist-bump Evie too.

Timothy realizes he's probably standing too close when Xavier grins at Evie and kisses her hard, a kiss with bumping noses and clinking teeth and Evie's dimples always there. Trying to keep the heat from his face, Timothy closes the hallway door and goes back to the kitchen counter.

"Mate, I think this is the first time I've actually stepped into your place," Xavier says, and Timothy looks up from his hands to find that Evie's arm is around Xavier' waist but they are very much not kissing. Xavier' lips are a little redder than when he arrived, but Timothy doesn't have much time to think about it. 

As soon as he gets to his side, Xavier puts the rum on the counter, takes a bottle of Coke from his backpack, and starts nagging him to get some glasses out. He stops mid-motion, though, and points to the bottles. "You drink, right? Because we can totally move the celebration elsewhere if you want."

Timothy smiles a little. Evie has commented on this, at one point or the other. "He's less invasive and abrasive than he was when we first met, but he's still learning. He tries really hard to be better, but, you know. He's a good person but he's very Xavier," she had explained, with that frustrated fondness of hers. Timothy thinks they'd had a fight about something that day, but Evie is “ _ trying to stop unloading all of her issues on other people _ ”, so she hadn't talked much about it. Timothy thinks he understands a little better now.

"It's okay, I just don't drink at work," he clarifies, and Xavier grins and goes back to opening his drawers without asking for permission first. Evie sits back on her chair and shares an amused look with Timothy.

Xavier' idea of a Cuba Libre is a disrespect to the original drink, with too much lemon and too much rum for anyone but himself to be capable of drinking it without grimacing at least a little. Three glasses in, Timothy feels more than a little buzzed.

Evie has her feet on Xavier's lap and is talking about a concert she wants to go to, slow enough for Timothy to understand it's sometime next week but too fast for him to get anything else.

The only thing Timothy is really paying attention to, though, is Xavier. Xavier who has his sleeves rolled up and is running his fingers up and down his left forearm in an absent motion. The forearm that has a long poem and a bunch of sparks like fireworks and one single lightbulb inked.

Timothy hasn't asked about any of Xavier's tattoos, really, but he's gotten a lot of time to look at them and try to decipher them. And now his traitorous drunken mind is going back to the one on his lower back, which he really shouldn't know about. He lets out the tiniest sigh and wills himself to listen to Evie.

Except listening to a drunken Evie is not a good idea, as he learns not five minutes later. Specifically by Evie moving from explaining the band's influences to talking about the band members. Timothy thinks that she's trying to make a case for them to go see the band with her, which is turning to be pretty useless, because Xavier seems to be too drunk to pay attention and Timothy has no idea of what the band is even called. 

"The singer has a great afro and great abs and is shirtless about eighty percent of the time, and the bassist is gorgeous, and she looks like she gives the best oral in the universe, probably," Evie says, and Timothy chokes on air. Evie squeaks and flails and yells " _ don't poke me! _ " at Xavier, who is pretending to be really offended and digging a finger into her side. "I meant after you! I thought we were at a point in our friendship where that could go unsaid!"

Timothy wonders if he's already drunk enough for this to be nothing more than a blurry memory tomorrow morning. On the other side of the table, Xavier grins and Evie's fake apologetic pout turns into a smile way too fast. "You know I give the best oral in the universe, anyways," Evie says, and Xavier makes a face at her.

Timothy gets up and goes to fix himself another drink, turning his back on them. He doesn't think there is a specific ' _ I may have thought about you two giving oral way too much for this conversation to be comfortable _ ' face, but he doesn't want to risk it.

"We should bet on it," Xavier is saying, and Timothy decides that one third of rum is a pretty decent proportion, "get a neutral party to determine who gives the best oral," Xavier continues, slurred but still intelligible, and Timothy's glass is more than half full of rum. He finally decides that coke isn't that essential and just goes to drink straight from the bottle when Evie adds, in her sweetest tone, "Timothy, I think Xavier is trying to ask you if you want to be the judge."

He turns around, his throat burning and trying really hard not to grimace (because of the alcohol) or blush (because he's an idiot) to find Evie smiling behind the rim of her glass and Xavier smirking up at him. Somehow, Evie is able to look equally innocent and mischievous. Xavier just looks like the annoying asshole he is. He looks at them, fixed hi glasses while trying to will himself to reply  _ anything _ . Preferably without stuttering. 

"We're kidding, mate, come on, fill my glass," Xavier finally says, and Evie raises her eyebrows, amused. Timothy answers with his blankest expression and what he expects to be a dismissive eye roll.

* * *

 

According to Xavier, Timothy has agreed to go to a concert of some kind. Some shitty rock band, probably. They play at like, three AM in a gloomy bar downtown and somehow Xavier has gotten Timothy to confess that he has that night off and promise to go with them. They've decided that Timothy should come over around midnight for drinks, even though he's sure that he should never drink near them again. He's spent all week trying to find an excuse to bail out, but he's always been a pretty bad liar.

He could just send them a text with a lousy excuse, but Xavier forgot his phone at Timothy's apartment today, when he came over to make really ridiculous threats to keep him from skipping their 'date', so he's kinda obliged to see them personally, and he knows he'll give in as soon as Xavier and Evie gang up on him. He's a weak man. 

And, because he's weak and a very, very bad person; and Xavier' phone doesn't have any screen lock, he's going through Xavier' text log right now. 

That's how he finds that his number is saved under 'HPA'.

He's frowning at the screen in utter confusion when his own phone vibrates in his pocket. It's another message from Evie's number, signed by Xavier, reminding him that he's not allowed to stay in like a boring old man and that he better not forget to get ice.

* * *

 

He's got a bag of ice on his hand and his head out of the window, and is ready to call out for Xavier to tell him to come out to the balcony and catch the fucking ice before he drops it down the alley, when Evie's laughter interrupts him. "You can't go around calling him that, Xavier!" Evie is saying, and her words can be heard loud and clear through the open balcony door. "But he is a hot piece of ass! I only speak the truth!" Xavier exclaims, and Timothy can picture his stupid 'I'm-very-offended' face perfectly. Evie is probably sighing right now.

"He is a person, Xavier. A person with interests, and hobbies, and a personality. Besides the nice ass, which, yeah, is totally a plus," Evie says, and Timothy isn't sure of what is the seriousness-slash-joking proportion on his words, but his jaw has gone slack.

"At least fifty percent of Timothy's hobbies are staring at your bum," Xavier retaliates. Evie's laughter is easy and bright, about as bright as the shade of red that must be coloring Timothy's face right now.

"I don't blame him! Your ass is like a national treasure, Evie," Xavier says, and it sounds like one of them threw something at the other. They are both laughing, and talking about Timothy's ass again.

"He's got some really nice arms, though," Evie is saying, but he's interrupted by Xavier. 

"He probably has a nice dick too, have you seen him in sweatpants?"

Timothy swallows hard and realizes that the hand holding the ice has gone numb. He gasps for breath, closes the window as silently as possible, goes back to the kitchen and proceeds to regret all the choices he's made during his life.

* * *

 

This tequila sunrise does taste like a tequila sunrise and not just pure alcohol with a dash of lime, but Timothy isn't so sure that's the best for him right now. Evie and Xavier are discussing the merits of the previous Spider-Man saga against the new Amazing Spider-Man movies, though it seems Xavier just has a thing against the dude that plays the new Spider-Man and refuses to acknowledge his movies are better, despite all the evidence.

It's the first time Timothy has actually been inside Evie and Xavier' apartment, even though they've been living here for almost four months. This is actually good, because he's got an excuse to look around and completely avoid anyone's gaze. And he finally understands how the distribution of this goddamn place works. That's good too.

The apartment is about as small as Timothy's, but without any walls at all. The only separated room is the bathroom, in a far corner, and the rest is just one big mess that doesn't seem to follow any particular organizational criteria. The bed, in a corner, is mostly hidden by a bookshelf and, though the shelves are completely full of books, magazines and comics; there are even more books scattered everywhere. It’s obvious the canvases and paint spread everywhere are mostly Xavier’s. The pinboard full of song-lists and tickets from concerts is probably a shared space. The only other window is big but it faces yet another building, and the entire glass is full of scribbles and doodles that Timothy hopes are drawn with washable ink.

Xavier snaps him out of his not-so-discreet inspection of the apartment by flicking a slice of lime at his head, and Timothy scowls at him. "Come on, mate, you could at least pretend that you like hanging out with us!" he complains. Evie seems to be busy trying to find a song in her computer, and Xavier obviously doesn't know how to deal with not having anyone paying attention to him. It's as annoying as it is endearing.

"I'm sorry, I was just trying to guess how the hell you both live in this shoe box, among such chaos," Timothy responds, nodding toward the ratty couch that seems to work as an extra bookshelf and a laundry basket at the same time. Even the small round table they're sitting at right now is a mess, all of Xavier' sketches and Evie’s notes pushed into a not-so-balanced pile to one side. 

Xavier shrugs and takes a drink from his glass before answering with "well, college is a thing that happens to people." He empties his glass, throwing his head back, and what was going to be a very snarky answer dies in Timothy's lips. A good portion of his neurons die too, and his entire thought process is reduced to trying to drag his eyes away from Xavier' neck. And breathe. Breathe. That is a thing that he should do sometime soon, too. Probably.

* * *

 

After walking twenty blocks; and Evie and Xavier agreeing that Timothy is a music snob who has no appreciation for the classics (“the classics” being 80’s rock&roll that Timothy considers to be painfully overrated and annoying to listen to), they arrive at the bar. 

The cold has cleared Timothy's head and he's almost sober again. Evie seems to be too, but Xavier' words are still slurred and he's tripped on his own feet at least ten times already.

The bouncer is a big dude that seems to be half annoyed and half amused by Xavier’s cheerful chatter, but ends up giving in and fist-bumping him before hurrying them in, arguing that the band has already started. 

It’s a band that plays mostly covers, so there’s no real hurry to get to the stage. First they go to the bar, where Xavier gets them all beers before Timothy can argue that they all should probably stop drinking. Evie grabs Timothy’s hand and drags him into the small crowd.

Four songs later, Timothy has to admit that maybe he's having a little bit of fun, and the band's original songs aren't that bad. The crowd is small enough that people don't bump into each other while jumping or dancing, but Xavier keeps stumbling and falling against Timothy or Evie. Still, he finishes his beer and then steals Timothy's and downs it too, and drags them back to the bar to get another.

"So, I have a serious plan," Xavier says, when he finally stops his hushed conversation with the bartender and turns around with a lighter in one hand and a beer on the other. "What if we grab the couch over there?" he asks, raising his eyebrows in what is surely supposed to be a seductive manner. Evie grins, but then turns to Timothy, a slight frown on her face. "Do you wanna?"

"Do I want what?" Timothy asks, confused, and Xavier snorts. "Smoke, L. Finger. Do you smoke?" Xavier takes a joint out of his shirt's pocket, and Timothy shrugs. "Yeah, why not?"

Timothy's head is swimming a little, and it's only his third hit. The last time he got high was like a year ago, when Kareema made pot brownies to celebrate her birthday. She then had forced Hank, Timothy and her brother Rohan to sit through the first and second Lilo & Stitch movies, and later managed to talk Hank and Timothy into getting matching tattoos with her.

This, now, doesn't feel anything like leaning onto his best friend's side watching Disney movies. The music is starting to beat louder and louder inside his head, the couch is too small and every place of his body that Evie's side is touching feels like it's on fire. Xavier' arm is over Evie's shoulders, and his hand keeps brushing Timothy's arm, and he can't listen to the music. Still, he accepts the joint again when Evie offers it.

He focuses on the music for a while, until the song changes and Evie yells "yes! I knew they would play Whitesnake!" and gets up to cheer in the stage's general direction. She flops next to Xavier a few seconds later, throwing her legs over Xavier's and Timothy's laps, and sings along with a huge grin on her face.

Xavier looks at Evie with a fondness that makes Timothy's stomach twist and knot. He doesn't have the brainpower to put a name to what he's feeling right now, but the singer is wailing, saying ' _ all or nothing, that's what I want from you _ ', and that sounds pretty accurate. He doesn't have the time to dwell on it, though, because Evie kicks him in the process of straightening up and reaching for the joint that Timothy is still holding. 

Timothy's breath hitches at the brush of fingers against his own and he would probably say something about asking first, about Evie being too impatient, but his tongue feels heavy and he doesn't quite remember how words work.

Evie lights up the joint again, and takes a deep hit. She talks with a strained voice and her neck is tense from holding her breath, her mouth looks tempting when she lets the smoke out. She then takes another hit, and Timothy doesn't really understand the look Xavier gives Evie, or why Evie leans towards him. He sees Xavier wrap a hand around the back of Evie's neck, the grin on Xavier's lips before they part and Evie's mouth is on his.

With the lights flashing on them and the way his brain is slowed down, Timothy feels like he's watching a stop-motion scene. The smoke slips between Evie' lips and he can see the movement of Xavier's chest as he sucks it in, eyes closed and just the hint of a smile when Evie flicks her tongue over Xavier's lower lip. Xavier hovers there for a second, lips closed and grinning before exhaling and giving Evie a kiss full of smoke.

Timothy feels as if his own mouth was made of sand. He's staring, he knows he's staring, but he doesn't have the willpower to look away. Evie is sucking on Xavier' tongue and the music's too loud but still Timothy could swear he can hear the way Xavier groans and gasps. 

When they part, Xavier looks up at Timothy and grins. "Want some beer?"

* * *

 

[From: Timothy] the thing is, i don't want to ruin their relationship

[From: Kareema] wait

[From: Kareema] im lost

[From: Kareema] u have a crush on which one of them

[From: Timothy] that's the issue

[From: Kareema] u dont know?

[From: Timothy] i do know

[From: Timothy] i like them both

[From: Timothy] in different ways, maybe?

[From: Timothy] i don’t know

[From: Kareema] well if u do like them both it fixes the not wanting to become a homewrecker issue

[From: Timothy] you are not useful

[From: Kareema] but im cute and hilarious

[From: Kareema] ps hank says u should get it & i personally agree

* * *

 

Timothy rolls over and straightens up just enough to look outside the window. He squints at the sunlight and sees Evie, leaning over the balcony, looking down at the alley. It's probably too cold for it, but Evie isn’t wearing anything over her dress. The door behind her is closed. Without thinking much about it, Timothy sits up on his bed and opens the window, the noise making Evie look up.

The frown in her face fades away when she sees Timothy. She throws him a weak smile, but she still doesn't look happy. And it's definitely cold, Timothy determines, reaching down to the floor for his shirt. "Good morning, sleeping Beauty," Evie jokes, a bit lower than the way she usually speaks. 

"Is everything alright?" Timothy asks her, before putting on his shirt. He leans his forearms on the window frame, and waits for Evie to stop shifting her eyes away and decide to answer.

"Xavier is arguing with his dad," Evie finally answers, even lower, and Timothy frowns. He asks 

why, and Evie just shrugs. "The guy is a douchebag. He’s in the city and he didn’t even tell Xavier.”

"Is there anything we can do?" he asks then. Evie' smile is tired and sad. "Not really. But you should come over later, we'll probably get high and watch movies that have no parents in them."

* * *

 

Evie throws a muffin at Timothy's head, which he catches easily, though he ends up with sticky fingers. He takes a bite before even saying thank you, which Evie seems to consider rude. She throws another one as a punishment, but it bounces off Timothy's window frame and falls into the alley. Xavier comes out of the apartment, and laughs at the way they are staring at where the muffin went out of sight.

"We have like a million of these, don't cry, " he says. Xavier's cousin is, according to Evie, the weirdest person in the universe, but he seems to be an excellent cook. All of his visits are synonymous with loads of tasty desserts and very loud banjo-playing. Even without the muffins accompanying his morning coffee, Timothy would like the dude. He really likes the sound of banjos, and the guy once stood outside on the balcony listening to Timothy talking about the code he was working on for about an hour. 

But, to be fair, Timothy likes almost anything that makes Xavier smile (even disgustingly bitter beer and the Spider-Man trilogy). He also likes most things that make Evie happy (not including Whitesnake, never including that). He likes Evie's dimpled smile and Xavier' mischievous grins. He really, really likes Evie and Xavier. He doesn't know how to put such a thing into words, so he mostly just stutters a lot and stays quieter than usual when they hang out. They always end up distracting him from his own anxiety and making him laugh, but the conflict keeps lurking at the back of Timothy's mind.

"Think fast!" Evie yells, effectively dragging him out of his train of thought and forcing him to flop back on the bed, coffee mug held up at a dangerous angle, to catch the muffin before the cream ruins his sheets. He succeeds, and sits back up with the pastry raised in a triumphant gesture, ready to call Evie an asshole. Instead, he shuts up and goes to take a sip from his coffee, wondering if he can drown in it.

The kiss happening on the other side is sweet and slow and it makes Timothy's throat close up a little. By the time he lowers his mug, they've parted away, and are smiling like dorks. Xavier looks up at Timothy, still smiling, still warm and bright and probably tasting of sugar, and Timothy can't help but smile back. He also can't keep down the little voice in his head telling him 'you're fucked'.

* * *

 

"The more you talk about Evie, the cuter she sounds," Hank comments, smiling behind his beer. Kareema sitting next to Timothy, and he can hear her perfectly when she mutters "and the more he talks about Xavier, the more annoying he sounds," only half joking. Not that it speaks particularly badly of Xavier, because Kareema finds most people at least a little annoying.

"Well, he is annoying," Timothy admits, shrugging. Hank laughs, but he rushes to add, "in a good way! Well, most of the time. He's overwhelming, and sometimes I want to punch him in the face, but once you understand him, he's..." He can't find the words. Instead, he gives examples.

How, between joking that Timothy needs to get laid and making lewd comments about an actress in some silly movie they were watching, he stopped to ask Timothy if he felt comfortable talking about sex, or if he wanted him to shut up. "You tell me, mate. I like making you uncomfortable but not uncomfortable-uncomfortable, you get me? So if you like, don't like talking about sex or simply don't like sex, or if I overstep, you tell me, alright?" Of course, Xavier had gone back to trying to guess which actors were Timothy's type and prying on his sex life as soon as Timothy told him that he didn't have any particular issue with that kind of conversation.

How he bribes his cousin Jesse (who is apparently dating a hacker) to get him information on professors he doesn't like and then takes weeks to organize giant pranks; but puts the same dedication onto painting beautiful murals in local parks and spray-painting poetry all over the city. 

How he carries tokens that remind him of his mom. How he struggles to stay still but he can sit and listen to Jesse, to Evie or to him for hours. “He's not like Evie. I don't think anyone is like Evie, really. But he's a good person, and he cares a lot," Timothy explains. 

Evie's goodness is easier to put into words, because Evie is almost entirely good. She's got flaws, like any human being, but her will to help, her predisposition to care and her determination to better herself are unarguable. Xavier is harder to read.

"More like you," Hank says, and he's probably right. "It sounds like they complement each other nicely," he continues. Timothy frowns, feeling again how that thing twists in his chest, just like every time he realizes how perfect they are together. "Hey, just because they are good together it doesn't mean they couldn't be even better with you! Stop sulking!"

"That's not a thing that just happens, Hank," Timothy answers back, sounding a little more bitter than he would've wanted. He smiles, and he scowls even more.

"Of course it doesn't just happen. You have to make it happen,” Kareema tells him, matter-of-factly. Timothy wishes he had her unrelenting confidence.

* * *

 

The couch is now actually a couch, free of clothes and books, and Timothy is sitting comfortably in one corner of it. Evie is leaning against the opposite armchair, one feet on the cushions and the other on the floor, and Xavier' back is to her chest. Xavier is the only winner in this arrangement, with his legs comfortably propped up on Timothy's lap. He's using his phone to change the music coming from the laptop; and has the bowl of chips protectively held in one arm and the unlit joint pressed between his lips.

"My arm is cramping and you are a very bad person," Evie comments, but she's smiling at Timothy from behind Xavier' shoulder and not making any attempt to move. The corners of Xavier' mouth tilt up just the slightest as he changes the phone to his other hand and reaches down to the floor to fetch his glass. Then, he smirks at Timothy.

"I should take a picture," Timothy jokes, nudging Xavier' shin.

"You should frame it and title it 'hashtag hedonism', sell it as a conceptual critique of our generation, make millions," Xavier answers, and both Timothy and Evie roll their eyes. "Come on, give me the lighter."

Timothy throws the lighter in Xavier' direction. Xavier leaves his glass and his phone on the floor, and lights up the joint. He takes a deep drag --the kind with eyes closed, chest expanding, his shoulders and neck tensing a little. When he exhales, his whole body relaxes against Evie's. Timothy just wants to be closer.

He's probably being even more obvious than usual, unable to keep his eyes from them. Evie's eyes are closed and she's nuzzling at Xavier' neck, and the hand that isn't holding her own glass has slipped under the bottom of Xavier' shirt. Xavier tells her to stop tickling him but doesn't move at all, instead licking his lips and then taking another drag from the joint. His voice comes out low and raspy when he speaks, straining a little to hold the smoke in as he comments on the lyrics of the song sounding right now.

Evie takes the bowl with snacks from Xavier' grasp and leaves it, along with her own drink, on the floor; and only then takes the joint. She smiles in that exasperated but fond way that is reserved for Xavier when he complains about being 'robbed' of his chips.

"Come on, you would have dropped them in about three seconds," Timothy intervenes, and gets a very offended gasp and Xavier taking his hand to his chest in a dramatic gesture as an answer. "Are you insinuating that I have less than perfect balance and coordination?"

"I'm insinuating that you're a dumbass, Holliday," is Timothy's answer, and Xavier flicks the lighter at his forehead. Evie's laughter is filled with smoke. "Come here, L. Finger, I'll fight you," Xavier jokes, using his strategic position to kick Timothy in the ribs. Timothy grabs his ankle and tugs, dragging Xavier down the couch until his head is on Evie's lap and Timothy has the perfect angle to press a finger on the muscle behind his knee and make him jump and curse. "I'm gonna murder you, mate, I swear," Xavier yells, trying to knee at Timothy's stomach while Timothy and Evie laugh at him.

Xavier complains about being uncomfortable and Evie moves so that Xavier' head rests on her belly, and then slips a hand into the neck of his shirt. Timothy can follow the movement of the fingers under the fabric, tracing Xavier' collarbone, but he chooses to take the joint and focus on the act of smoking instead.

The thing about smoking --and about talking with Evie and Xavier-- is the completely undetectable jump between being a lucid, perfectly aware person; and feeling lost and dizzy and not being able to erase the smile from his own face. He's known this about weed for a while now, but he's only discovered Evie and Xavier have that effect on him recently. It's maybe taken him a little too much to admit it, though.

He feels like that right now. He's sober and mostly able to look at the way Xavier keeps licking the sweetness of weed from his lips without his brain short-circuiting. He's even able to both focus on Evie's commentary about how this particular song is a metaphor for something, and on the way his inner voice sounds a lot like Kareema telling him to stop being a fucking coward. The next second, the high gets to him and he can only think of how dry his mouth feels, and how Evie's is hand still under Xavier' shirt, and how Xavier' tongue is poking out again. His eyes are a little heavier. His mouth slowly slips into the smile of a teenager with a crush. His ability to multitask goes from a solid, respectable eight to a pathetic two.

Right now, he can only think of Evie's dimpled grin and the way Xavier' bare foot keeps kicking against Timothy's shin. And Kareema, still there but further, saying 'make it happen' in a looping echo.

Xavier and Evie are laughing, suddenly, and it takes Timothy a second to understand the joke. A terrible remix of an equally terrible R&B song is playing, and Evie is laughing at Xavier while Xavier tries to defend himself and the awful song, while laughing at it too. "I never said it was a quality playlist! I said it was a playlist to make out to!" Xavier is arguing, but he keeps getting cut by his own, breathless laughter. "You are ridiculous," Evie answers, and laughs even more when they find theirs is a terrible position for kisses.

Timothy can't control either the fondness nor the craving, and he's sure they are showing on his face. He takes another hit to distract himself of the clumsy, giggly kiss that they share; looking at the Rolling Stones poster next to the balcony door instead.

"Timothy, stop hoarding the pot," Xavier calls, and straightens up to punch him on the shoulder.

Instead of trying to think of an answer (or giving it back, because going with anything Xavier says is not an option), Timothy grins at him and takes the joint to his lips.

He has a split second to notice the sticky resin on his tongue, the way Evie juts her chin and bites her lower lip. The smoke is still on his mouth when Xavier lunges forward, but not to take the joint from his fingers. Instead, he presses a warm mouth against his. It's playful and daring and it feels like a blow to the ribs, makes Timothy gasp and blow the smoke between Xavier' lips. There is just the slightest lick into his mouth before Xavier pulls back, and Timothy is sure his heart just skipped a beat.

He thinks his mouth is still hanging open and he's not even sure he's breathing when he looks up, expecting to find a mocking smirk on Xavier' face, anger or disappointment in Evie's eyes. (He can take a mean joke from Xavier, but he's not sure he can live with Evie being angry at him.) None of that is there, though. It takes a moment to register, Timothy's brain still a little foggy, slow with smoke and too much doubt and too many thoughts. But there is no anger, no jealousy, no mocking.

Evie and Xavier are doing this thing they do sometimes. Somehow, their faces have synced into the same exact expression. Lips barely parted, a light frown in both their brows, a combination of heat and euphoria and hesitance. Smoke slips from between Xavier' lips, and Timothy does the emotional equivalent of jumping from a fifth floor. Which is going in for another kiss. A proper kiss.

It tastes like too sweet resin and Xavier’s disgusting artisanal beer and it makes Timothy's head spin. He's sure that he was having some sort of moral conflict a second ago, but right now there is a hot breath mixing with his and a warm tongue running against his teeth and he's just trying to keep his hand from shaking as he moves it to cup Xavier' jaw. The other hand, still holding the joint, he rests it on Xavier’ shoulder.

He can feel soft fingers brushing against his, is partially aware that the joint is taken away from him, but doesn't really mind. That just means he has both hands free and can now slide that one to grab at Xavier' bicep, dig his fingers in the muscle and pull him closer. He hears the click of the lighter, the deep breath Evie takes. Xavier kisses him deeper and licks the roof of his mouth and under his tongue and Timothy's entire body feels like smoke, rushing and flowing and melting inside a tight space.

Xavier kisses him slowly but not teasing. Where his tongue is thorough and focused, his hands are impatient. He tugs at Timothy’s clothes, presses strong fingers against his neck, runs them down Timothy’s sides. Xavier pulls away and Timothy can't help but follow with his entire body; lets himself be dragged along by the tug of teeth on his upper lip and the hands on his shoulders. Only when Xavier breaks away completely does Timothy open his eyes. Evie is taking another hit, looking at them with big burning eyes.

Timothy feels the smile and the blush settling on his face, a rush of warmth flooding him. Evie's smile is soft and relaxed, reassuring, but just for a second. It's mischievous when she grins around the joint, taking another drag. She then tugs Xavier closer, dragging him into a smoky kiss.

It's slow and deliberate and Timothy is sure that he's getting a little higher with every strand of smoke that tangles between them, but he's still pretty lucid and very much aware, and that means he's still hesitant. They aren't. They break apart breathing heavily, but don't wait a second before Evie is leaning in and wrapping and arm around Xavier' waist to reach for Timothy's shirt, pull his closer by his collar.

Evie’s kisses are a little rougher. She bites at Timothy’s lower lip, drags her teeth slowly just to look up at him and smile. Then kisses him for real. Sucks on Timothy’s tongue, keeps pulling on his shirt to drag him closer and kiss him harder. She can’t pull him any closer, though, because Xavier’ body is still between theirs and Xavier is laughing and pushing them apart.

“There is some terrible strategy going on here,” he says, and Evie pouts. Xavier takes his legs from Timothy’s lap, almost sitting like a decent person, and takes his glass from the floor. “Besides, my mouth is dry and we were gonna, like, go at this like adults and sit with you and talk this out and now the plan is ruined,” he says, looking at Timothy with a grin, before taking a sip.

“I wanted to ask you like an adult, Xavier suggested using a skywriter,” Evie argues, but she moves closer to them. Timothy wants to point out that, if there was a plan, Xavier was the one to ruin it anyways; but he can’t actually stop smiling or articulate words. Evie leans over Xavier’s body and places a kiss on the corner of Timothy’s mouth. Then she just hovers, smiling at him. Xavier isn’t looking at them, his eyes closed when he says “so, what do you say?”

“To what, exactly?” he asks, and he thinks he’s doing pretty good at making it sound like a joke. He really does want an answer, though, because he might be reading it all wrong and maybe he’s just being asked into a one-time thing. He hopes not.

Evie grins, kisses him again. Softer. She looks a little more sober and a lot more serious when she pushes back. “Do you want to, like, take a shot and see if dating is a thing that works for us?”

Timothy grins at them. He wants to respond properly, but Xavier cuts him off by kissing him, and Evie kisses his neck, and when he finally can articulate a “just for the record, my answer was yes,” their smiles are probably the brightest he’s ever seen.


End file.
